It's Cold Here Without You
by TracyM
Summary: Buffy has been left alone after the death of her husband, Dean Winchester. A visit from a stranger changes things however. Depending on the response to the story, I may change it to a longer story. However, it is a one shot at this point.
1. Chapter 1

"He needs you…."

I shoot out of sleep and nearly out of the bed itself. This is not the first time. I have not been able to sleep for almost the entire week, no thanks to the voice that haunts my dreams. I am past the point of aggravation.

It's cold, something I am not used to. Living in southern California my entire life had not prepared me for the winters of the Greenbelt of New York. It's late in January, a month I accustomed with weather in the sixty degree margin, not the single digits. It doesn't help that the small house I rented is most likely haunted. It's either that, or I'm crazy, but I'm going with the latter. Regardless of all of this, returning to California is out of the question.

"Come out," I call into the darkness.

I wait several moments before scoffing and throwing off the blankets. My bare fit hit the cold wooden floor and I scuffle around for my slippers. Eventually, I find them under the bed and walk around the room.

"Come out! I'm sick of this shit! I haven't had a good night's sleep in a week."

Nothing.

"I could do things to you that you can't even imagine. So either come out now, or leave me alone so I can sleep!"

There is still no answer, so I turn back to bed, kick off my slippers, and pull the blankets over my head. I'm almost asleep when I hear the voice again.

"Go to him."

"Goddamitt, what did I say?" I yell then, throwing the blankets up again and switching on the bedside light.

That's when I see him. There is a man standing at the foot of my bed, average size with scruffy brown hair and a long tan trench coat. I have never seen him before and instinct has me out of bed in seconds, with a knife in my hand moments later.

"Get out of my house or this is going through your heart. I'm not fucking around. Out. Now."

He grins slightly.

"That won't hurt me."

I don't allow him the chance to move. Instead, I throw it at him. He catches the knife just before it hits him, turns the handle, and plunges the blade directly through his breastbone and into his heart. Then, without any blood flow, he pulls it out and tosses it to the floor with a bang. My eyes widen.

"You've gotten a bit rusty, Slayer."

My head cocks slightly to the left in suspicion.

"What are you?"

He knows about Slayers. Even more so, he knows that I am one. Or that I used to be one. I ran away from that life over a year ago.

"Is that really important right now?"

"Well, considering you have broken into my house, I would say, yes, it is."

"You've never seen anything like me."

"Try me."

"I'm an angel."

"Right…look, you're a ghost, aren't you? And you're just bored, so you're messing with me."

"I'm not a ghost."

I roll my eyes, just wishing he would leave or disappear. Sleep is at the forefront of my mind. At that point, I figure he could sleep there, as long as he would just keep quiet.

"What do you want? Why are you bothering me?"

My initial fear of him has dwindled and I am sitting beneath my covers again with my arms wrapped around my knees. My eyes are only halfway open.

"I don't want anything. But Dean needs you."

There suddenly is a feeling in my chest that my insides are caving in. I can't breathe. I feel violated, sad, and angry all in an abrupt instant. Part of me wants to leap out of bed again, but I can't move.

His name had only played in my head over the past year – I hadn't dare spoken it. Had I said it out loud, I don't know if I would have made it as far as had now. Acknowledging his existence even now was difficult enough.

"Dean's…gone."

I can't look at whatever this thing was standing in front of me. My eyes are welling up with tears that I don't want to fall and I am starting to shake. I inadvertently run my fingers over my wedding ring. As much as I wish he wouldn't watch me, I can feel his eyes burning into my skin. He's not human, that's certain, so I can't say I blame him. Avoiding uncomfortable stares is a trait often lost on those outside the human race.

"He's not. Not entirely. And he needs you."

"This is cruel, you know that?!" I shout at him, a growl in my voice. The tears I was trying to hold back are cascading down my face."

"No, Buffy, it's not. Cruel is leaving him out by himself while you deny what I'm telling you."

I wish I knew how he knows so much about me.

"Listen to me, you creepy whatever the hell you are, Dean is dead. He died last year right after our wedding. Directly after. They knew where we were going to be, those demon bastards, and they killed him. The only reason I survived was because of my fucked up lineage. He wasn't as strong as me."

"You have to listen to what I'm telling you-"

"You know what, why don't you get the hell out of my house? How am I supposed to believe anything you say-"

There is a burst of white light before me then, one so bright that I fear I may have gone blind. The house vanishes and there is a deathly silence. I am nowhere. Then it all stops and I feel cold. The two of us, me and the so called angel, are standing in the middle of the woods. I recognize them. They are miles from the house. I occasionally go running through them, but have avoided it lately due to the temperature.

"What are we doing out here. I'm in my pajamas, its freezing!"

"Quiet!"

There is a harsh tone to his voice that makes me shrink downwards, something incredibly authoritative that I am not used to. I glare at him and look around the woods. It's dark, with nothing but the moon to illuminate the surrounding area. The leaves are covered with a slight layer of snow, one that has frozen to the ground due to freezing rain. My feet are cold. I'm about to ask him another question when I hear the leaves crackling behind us.

I spin around and even in the darkness, I know it's him. It's the smell – the smell of my husband.

"Dean," I breathe, not sure if I even say the word out loud.

I'm unaware that a slight tear has run down my cheek. He is standing several feet away from me, his body covered in dirt, his eyes wild. His nails are broken and jagged, like he has crawled out of something. I move towards him, but he looks past me and falls to the ground, still awake, but apparently exhausted.

"He can't see me," I say, turning back to the creature in the long coat, "why? Why can't he see me?"

I'm crying fully now, my voice ragged and loud enough to echo through the woods.

"We're not visible to him. I told you, I'm an angel. We're not even really here. We're just viewing this place."

"What the fuck does that mean? Never mind, just send me back home now!" I insist, angry I can't do it myself.

He doesn't hesitate and I am again in my bedroom, only I am alone and my feet are covered in dirt. Without even grabbing a coat or shoes, I bolt from the house and run faster than I ever have into the woods. My chest feels it may burst at any second, the cold air shredding my insides. Miles into the darkness, I find my husband, cold, shaking, and scared. Before he can say anything, I collapse beside him on the frozen dirt, wrap my arms tightly around him, and breathe in his scent with tears running down my face.


	2. Chapter 2

_Eighteen months earlier…_

"Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?"

"That's an old wives' tale. At least I think it is."

In our former lines of work, one would think that we would be the first people to believe in every old wives' tale to hit the books. But that is part of the old life. The wedding is a symbol of the new one, so I do my best to ignore the lingering tension. I look down at my attire, not amused in the least.

"I can't believe I'm getting married in blue jeans. With no makeup."

I had never pictured it this way – getting married without a long white flowing dress, my hair tied back in a ponytail holder, looking all shiny. I'm in jeans and a black T-shirt, for God's sake. I had no family or friends to speak of to stand for me, but this is part of why things are changing so much.

"You look beautiful. And besides, I have Chap Stick, if that helps. It's sort of like makeup. Besides, we're in the middle of Death Valley, so it will make you feel better."

"We're not in Death Valley. It's just a California desert."

"Whatever. It's abandoned. For miles."

I snicker slightly, loving his sweet ignorance. He pulls the Chap Stick out of his pocket, only to add it to his own lips before handing it to me. Instead of taking it, I kiss him, pulling the majority of the medicated balm to my own mouth.

"Thank you," I say with a smile, "now leave and let me…finish my hair. Or whatever I can do here to feel like I'm actually a bride."

The ceremony is quick. There isn't much to do or say, as neither of us is religious and we have no one to say anything about us. We simply exchange rings and a kiss and that's it. It's funny that when we kiss, there is no difference. It is the same as before we were married and probably the same as it always will be. I assume it is because we were always meant to be together.

We sit in one of the desert chapel pews, alone, as the justice of the peace is cleaning up in the back room.

"You don't look so happy about being the new Mrs. Winchester," he said, grinning at me and nudging me playfully in the shoulder.

"Oh, no," I sigh, "it's not that. I'm just thinking about everyone. Dawn, Willow, everyone. I just wish they were here."

I feel him place his arm around my shoulders and I sink into his side.

"I know how you feel. I don't have anyone anymore either. That's what you're for," he kisses the top of my head.

The massacre of our family members and friends months earlier flashes through my mind and I do the best I can to shove the vicious thoughts aside. It's nothing but darkness on a day that should be happy. All I see is black eyes, blood, and torn flesh. It is why we fled Sunnydale and are not planning on returning. We decided to place our work behind us due to the amount of pain it causes us and start a new life as man and wife. It seems a lot easier than done. My mind is about to relax and slide back to the present moment when I hear a scream from the back room.

"You can't be here," we hear the justice of the peace say, his voice shaking, "this is a house of God."

He is thrown from the back to the alter before we can stand. I turn to see a woman with long blond hair standing in the aisle. She's dressed in tight red leather and skinny blue jeans. How she can walk in the desert in high heeled boots as high as hers is beyond me. Her eyes are black in color.

"Shows what you know," she says, cocking her head and then tilting it in our direction, "hello, Dean."

I step in front of him, instinctively, which is strange because he tries to do the same. He seizes my arm and shoves me behind him, despite how strong he knows I am. I don't budge, more out of respect than anything else. If the time comes, I'll move.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Surprised you don't recognize me, regardless of this fabulous new host."

The demon does a bit of a sashay. When our reactions are blank in nature, she reverts back to her original stance. Her brows are furrowed.

You shoved a knife into my chest. My own knife, mind you."

"Ruby?"

The way he says that signals fear in me.

"Damn straight."

"But, how…?"

"Does it even matter anymore? Christ, how many things have you done in life that people shouldn't be able to do? I mean, shouldn't you be dead? And your tiny little Slayer wife over there?"

He doesn't have anything to say to that and I can't argue it.

"You know you're not getting out of here, right?" he growls, tightening his grip on me.

"That may be true, but I can damn well guarantee you won't."

Her lips turn upwards into a sinister grin and the chapel feels as if it has blown apart. I realize when I finally come to that I am held against the right wall, roughly six feet in the air. The justice of the peace is lying on the floor beneath me, blood spilling out of his skull. There is no way he can still be alive. I do my best to move even my fingers, but find it impossible. Unable to turn my head, I move my eyes as far as possible to find my husband a few feet down the wall. He's still unconscious, but appears to be breathing and there is an army of demons standing beneath us, just past the poor dead man. The pews have been torn from the floor and all the unwelcome visitors are staring at us, their eyes black. The one he called Ruby is within the crowd, not the leader, but none of them seem to be.

"What do you want?" I ask, barely able to speak.

Nearly all the breath is gone from me. It is very difficult to say anything. There is a crushing feeling in my chest that tightens with every passing moment.

They smile, nearly in unison, the white teeth contrasting greatly with the black eyes. It's terrifying.

"You and your husband's heads on a fucking stick. How's that grab you, Goldilocks?"

I'm too lightheaded to even focus on who says that. All I can center on is trying to stay awake. That is when I feel movement to the left of me. My eyes turn back to Dean, who is incredibly weak. I know he doesn't want me to know this, but I can see it. He isn't going to last much longer. He can't say anything and before I am able to tell him it is okay, a scream tears from him, one he is clearly trying to hide. The hideous creatures underneath us laugh.

"Leave him alone, you miserable pieces of shit!"

They don't pay attention to me in the slightest and my eyes involuntarily close when I hear his skin tear from his body. From the feeling of my own insides, they have moved on to me and I lose consciousness again.

I come to on my stomach. My skin is parched from head to toe. When I am able to open my eyes and see clearly, I see that the chapel is in ruins, turned to numerous pieces of stone debris. The sun is high in the summer sky, scorching my skin. The demons have vanished.

It takes a few minutes for me to pull myself to my feet. My lower leg is crushed by some of the rubble, so I find myself limping through it. Every muscle in my body feels torn and the bones bruised, if not cracked.

"Dean?" I call, desperately. "Where are you?"

I limp around, finally out of the remains and find him a few feet away, lying face down in the sand.

"Dean?" I ask, shaking him. It's a ridiculous notion, as I already know he's dead. My mind doesn't want to accept it, however.

"Please, honey, wake up, please," I say, my voice shaking and quieting the more I speak, "please, just wake up…"

It's too late.


	3. Chapter 3

It's still cold. There is rain beating on the roof in January, which I personally find odd. It's too cold for me to want to go outside, but not cold enough for the rain to freeze. I'm not used to such weather, as the weather never seems to change in California. Nor am I used to a situation such as this.

I remember when I was young and had witnessed such a scene. It was when Angel had come back to me. He had been out of his mind. Still, he was stronger than Dean. As much as Dean wouldn't want to admit that, it was a fact with him being a human. It is the reason why he is huddled in a corner, trembling fiercely, looking feral and afraid. I have never seen him such a way.

It has been days since I first found him in the woods. Getting him back to the house had been an ordeal, as it had been much like fighting a wild animal. I still am unsure if he recognizes me or not. He has said nothing so far and I have done all I can to communicate with him. There was period of time where he allowed me to clean him off, due to his filthy condition. Since then, he remains in the corner of the bedroom.

There has been an immense refusal to eat on his part over the course of the days. As much as I insist that he eats, he rejects everything I put in front of him, going as far as to hit me the first few times I attempt this. In hopes that he will simply come to his senses in regards to the subject, I leave warm food in front of him at nearly all times. At least he drinks the water I give him.

Having him back in such a manner is strange. Every day, I hope that the so called angel will appear again, in a way to somehow guide me, but he remains unseen. My husband is a stranger to me and to the world. He is less than a human being, curled up in the corner of my house in a makeshift bed, refusing any contact with me. With each passing day, I watch him decay more physically and psychologically without being able to do a thing about it. It's beyond heartbreaking.

Part of me wonders if it would have been better if he would have remained dead. I quickly shove those thoughts aside, not wanting to think of how I felt mere days prior when I only saw him in mind. Although the person I see before me is not the husband I remember, it is still him. Someday, hopefully soon, he will be close to what he used to be. But until then, I will not be alone and he will be with me.

"Buffy?"

His voice is hoarse and very quiet, but I hear him. I have been waiting days for him to speak and I practically bolt across the room. It is late and I feel I should be asleep. Nonetheless, I am doing nothing but watching him and pretending to watch something on Netflix. So when he speaks, I am more than ready to move.

Things have gotten slightly better as the days have passed. He has eaten small bits of food and has agreed to allow me to give him a bath almost each day. The first few days were impossible, as he fought me off numerous times. Not wanting to hurt or terrify him, I left him alone until he calmed down. Finally, on the third day, he was clean for the first time since he had come home. Regardless, he has remained in the corner of the room, wrapped in blankets, far from me.

I rush to his side. In an attempt to not frighten him, I stay a few inches back, but still close. He is staring at me, shaking just slightly. I can't tell if he recognizes me or not. He knows my name, but I don't know if he knows who I am. Very slowly, I reach over and touch the side of his face very carefully. When I touch him, I can feel his resolve soften and I feel calmer. He appears more human now and I recognize his eyes as those I looked at in the chapel.

Things are somewhat back to normal. We are both on edge with each other, not sure what to expect. He hasn't told me where he was and I'm not even sure he knows. I don't think he is even sure of what to say to me. We have kept in close quarters, but are very quiet.

I have been sleeping better, but only for hours at a time. Roughly two weeks after finding him in the woods, I awake in the darkness of the night. He is asleep beside me, snoring loudly. I crawl out from beneath his arm and begin to wander throughout the house aimlessly. I'm not hungry, but I find myself in the kitchen, searching through the refrigerator for nothing in particular.

"Stop asking yourself what the right thing to do is."

I spin around, dropping a glass on the floor. It shatters on the tile and I scowl. The angel I spoke with weeks earlier is standing behind me.

"Thanks," I say, sarcastically, "what do you want?"

I go to clean it up when I realize that the glass is fixed and sitting in one piece on the counter beside me. Knowing it is his doing, I try to ignore it. He gives me somewhat of a sly smile.

"Live your life. Let him live his."

"How am I supposed to do that? Neither of us knows where he was or why he is back."

"It doesn't matter. He was brought back because the two of you serve a purpose in this world. Without you, the human race will cease to exist. That is all you need to know."

I don't know what he means by that, but I do know that he isn't going to explain himself. His cryptic nature will never change. Even if I want to ask him any further questions, I wouldn't have a chance. He disappears before my eyes. Annoyed, I put the newly restored glass in the cupboard and go back to bed. When I cover myself with the blankets, I feel him pull me next to him for the first time in over a year.


	4. Chapter 4

_About two months later…_

"Are you feeling okay?"

I lie and say yes, but it is very clear I am not. I can barely speak and have been lying on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, huddled in a blanket, for hours. I cannot stop vomiting. Mom never told me about this. I rarely thought about it, never having pregnancy be part of my plan in life. And even in those few moments when it had crossed my mind, I had naively thought I could deal with the pain having the strength of the Slayer. That is clearly not the case.

"Oh, Jesus, look at you," I hear him say from the entrance of the room.

He picks me up with the blankets wrapped around me. I try to fight him off, not wanting to be pitied, but then decide to let it go. He puts me back in bed and I cringe. My stomach is a wreck and my esophagus is on fire. I am unable to keep down any of the food that I have tried to eat and have been losing more weight than I ever did normally.

"You know, it's not too late to-"

"For the last time, Dean, no. I am not fucking around with that, do you understand me?"

He has been bothering me to abort the child since my health went into decline. Under normal circumstances, I would have felt it the proper thing to do. The last thing we need to do is bring someone else into our world of fear and pain. It seems irresponsible. But something about it makes me feel sick. After losing Dean, I feel I can't purposely destroy a part of us.

"Then go see a fucking doctor!" he says, his voice rising tremendously.

He is angry at me and I don't see why not. I am being stubborn, but with good reason. Leaving the house is not an option for me, due to a fear of the demons realizing I am still alive, as well as Dean. If they find me to be pregnant, the ideas of what they may do are unthinkable.

"Do I have to explain this to you again? Women have been having babies without doctors and hospitals since the dawn of time. We can do this ourselves."

"How do you know? You've never had a baby."

"I just know, okay?"

He's frustrated. All he sees is his wife essentially dying because of the baby inside her. It's not like I haven't thought about the possibility it would kill me. That isn't my worst fear, however. The fear that haunts me on a daily basis is that the child I'm carrying is somehow not human. After all, its father was pulled back from the dead in a way that has still not been explained. I try to ignore it, but pregnancy nightmares are frequent.

I want to say something else but before I get the chance, my stomach lurches up and I don't make it to the bathroom to vomit.

"You can't continue to be upset about this. I'm not exactly doing cartwheels about it myself, but think of it in a good way. We can be a regular family."

We are sitting in front of the fireplace. I feel like an old married couple, watching the fire while curled up on the armchair. It is very comfortable on my back. Dean is beside me on the second chair, not looking in my direction. I know what he is going to say before he says it.

"There's no such thing as a regular family. The last time I knew the notion of a regular family, I was the size of you."

At least he hasn't lost his cynical sense of humor. It lightens the atmosphere a bit.

"You're hysterical," I say with a dark edge, "but you forget that you're not the only one who has lost people. Those things I spent my life riding the earth of killed everyone I love – including you."

We don't talk about it much, his death. He turns to me then, his eyes boring into me.

"I still don't remember anything about that."

"I know."

Everything is silent again for a few minutes and I can't help but try to break the silence.

"What do you want to name the baby?"

"Buffy, what have I told you?"

"Look, its coming one way or another. So we may as well be happy about it. I never wanted kids either, but you kind of have to embrace it."

He doesn't say anything. I know him well enough to know that he would love to have children and that he would be a wonderful father. But due to our lifestyle, he can do nothing but worry. He can see only terror in our lives, so much that it blinds him to the happiness and love that can come with it. Before death, he had been a careful and at times worrisome person. But there had always been lightheartedness behind his eyes. That no longer exists. I agonize over the thought that he is still dead inside, but walking around, trying to make himself human again.

I pull myself from the chair, my pain slightly subsided. There is nothing more I feel I can say to him regarding the subject and I wonder what it would have been like if the demons had never attacked us. It brings tears to my eyes, ones I pull back in an almost angry fashion. The things I worked so long to kill off had ruined my life to an immeasurable extent. I want to believe that this will get better one day, but the pessimism is shoving me down further every day.

When I leave the room to climb the stairs to the bedroom, he doesn't follow me. It's late in the afternoon on a Sunday and I have nothing to do. My wish for him to even speak to me in a pleasant tone, one that he genuinely means, heightens with every step I take. The kicker of it is that I can't even blame him for the way he is acting. There's no way around what we are experiencing.

For almost an hour, I lay in the bathtub, doing my best to relax, something that doesn't happen. I wonder if he has fallen asleep in front of the fire, something he has been known to do. It's either that or he doesn't want to speak to me, which very well could be the case. After coming to the understanding that I will be unable to achieve any kind of peace, I wrap myself in a robe and walk into the guest room down the hall from our bedroom.

The room currently houses a bed and not much more. It is soon to be the nursery, but we have not begun any work on it. There are numerous books on pregnancy and babies under the bed. I keep them there because I worry that they may disappear if Dean sees them. I am unable to put it past him. Since I don't leave the house, I order everything off Amazon, one of the greatest tools of the modern age. The books are no exception. I have even read my latest order, being too sick.

I'm halfway through reading what to expect in the first trimester, restlessly skipping around paragraphs when I hear someone walking up the stairs. I look up instinctively, expecting to see Dean in the doorway. After a few moments, I don't see him.

"Dean? Is that you?" I call.

Nothing.

I toss the book beneath the bed, as I have done so many times before, and stand up.

"Dean?" I call louder in a more assertive tone.

"He's asleep."

I spin around to see the thing in the tan coat behind me.

"God, what is it with you and these dramatic entrances? They're not necessary; we have a door."

"What fun is that?" he asks with that sarcastic grin and undertone.

I roll my eyes.

"You will be happy again, you know. He will love her and you will be happy."

His words are much more genuine than his last, calming me momentarily.

"What?"

"Just keep it in mind."

"Buffy, who are you talking to?"

I turn to see my husband standing in the doorway. The second he asks, my head involuntarily turns back in the other direction. It is of no surprise to me that my cryptic messenger has vanished.

"No one."


	5. Chapter 5

_Seven years later…_

"Lizzie, what are you doing?"

My daughter is staring at me with wide green eyes. There is a huge grin on her face, one that reminds me too much of her father.

"Can I have some of that?"

She points to the cake batter I have whipped up.

"No, honey. The raw eggs can make you sick."

Her smile vanishes and is replaced with a slight pout.

"Put away your pout, Lizzie. You'll have cake soon enough."

"It's not for me, Mommy."

"Oh? Who is it for, your father? You can tell him the same thing I told you."

I set the oven for the proper temperature, doing my best to keep her away from the batter at the same time.

"It's for Castiel."

I really wish that I knew where she had come up with such an original name for her imaginary friend. God only knows where she picked it up.

"Castiel doesn't eat cake batter. You've already told me he doesn't eat to begin with, so don't try to go back on it now."

I wish we could back to even a year ago when Castiel didn't exist. He had only come into her head in the past eight months or so.

"But, Mommy-"

"Now, Lizzie, I said no. You know not to do this, we've been over it. Keep begging and you won't get cake later, got it?"

She gives me a dark look, one that I know she gets from me, so I can't be too angry about it. As she stomps out of the kitchen, I place the cake in the oven.

"I see you pissed off our offspring," I hear Dean say with a laugh while I work to clean the kitchen.

"She'll get over it."

"Castiel, again?"

"You've got it."

"That's a rather interesting name. At least she is creative."

"There's that. I get kind of sick of hearing about him though. Did you ever have any imaginary friends? I don't remember how long they are supposed to last."

"Well, she doesn't socialize, so it's not a surprise."

"Don't start in with me on that. You know I can't allow her to go to any kind of schooling."

The subject is an odd one with us. We don't argue about it, but we don't exactly agree on it, either. We refuse to let Lizzie leave the house unless absolutely necessary due to those wanting to kill us. I have nightmares on a constant basis of what they would do to her if they even knew she existed, so she wasn't leaving my sight. Both of us understand why this has to be, but we worry at the same time that we are going to make ourselves and her crazy.

"I know. I'm not saying that. But this has to be expected and maybe it's not the worst thing."

"Talking to herself?"

"Maybe she's not talking to herself. Look at us. We're both supernaturally inclined. Is it so strange that she may be speaking to something we can't see?"

I don't want to think about that. It's an idiotic notion, wishing that she would grow up normally. Her father is a hunter who somehow crawled out of the grave. I am a Slayer run off the map. We are hiding amongst the woods of northern New York with our property lined in salt and protection enchantments. The idea that my daughter would grow to be nothing more than a Girl Scout is ridiculous.

"No," I mutter, almost silently.

The next few weeks fill tense in the house. Lizzie doesn't want much to do with me, but I can't tell if it is actually that, or that I am imagining things. She is above me on the second floor and I can hear her running around. Dean is outside, monitoring the perimeter of the property, an activity with both pertake in twice a day.

"Lizzie!" I call, lazily wandering up the stairs, "calm it down a bit, okay? You could wake the death with all of that noise."

I approach the doorway of her room and see that she is sitting on the floor, surrounded by many toys.

"Hi, Mommy."

There's a large toothy grin on her face. Her dark curls are pulled into a ponytail holder, one that I didn't put them in.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing with Castiel."

I nod with my teeth clenched slightly. I don't want to say anything to upset her and try my best to remember what Dean told me.

"You can play downstairs with me, honey."

"I want to play with Castiel. He tells me stories."

"Stories?"

I'm trying so hard to go along with this.

"About you and Daddy."

I don't expect that. It's difficult to talk to someone about a being that doesn't exist. Even though I am speaking to a child, I still find it incredibly complicated. It would be easier to talk to a stuffed animal. I decide to change the subject and bring her downstairs for lunch.

As we sit in the dining room eating grilled cheese, I watch her closely, trying to figure out what she is thinking. She's very quiet.

"Is Castiel here?" I ask, trying to get her to talk to me.

"No. He likes to stay upstairs."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think he just likes it up there."

She goes back to her sandwich and her tomato soup. She remains silent during lunch. The feeling I experience reminds me of how aggravated I used to get when Mom would ask me to spend time with her when I was younger. I understand Mom now. I feel terribly lonely with my daughter sitting beside me.

"Mommy?"

I practically jump at her question.

"What's up, sweetie?"

"Do you know what a Slayer is?"

The question turns my insides to ice. For a moment, I just sit, unable to move. My comprehension is non-existent.

"Mommy?" she asks again, her eyes wide, "are you okay?"

"Where did you hear that word?" I demand of her.

"What?"

Her voice is quivering. As much as I hate to do this to her, I am terrified.

"Mary Elizabeth Winchester, you answer me," I say, my voice rising.

She knows how serious I am. I never call her by her full name unless I mean it.

"Castiel told me…"

"Now, dammit, you tell me the truth! This is serious!"

"I told you, Castiel told me!"

"Castiel is not real! Do you understand that? He's not real! And I want to hear where you got this word from this instant!"

She's crying and I'm yelling and I feel like shit. I shouldn't have told her he wasn't real. That just crushed her little heart.

"He is real! He told me about you and Daddy, about how you were a Slayer and you protected the world against monsters!"

There are huge tears rolling down her now bright red skin and she is hardly speaking coherently. I can't believe the bits of words I understand. That's when I realize Dean has come in from outside.

"What the hell is going on?"

I watch Lizzie clutch onto him, sobbing into his jacket. He grips her protectively and stares at me, confused.

"She asked me what a Slayer is. Where did she get that from, Dean? You?"

His confusion turns to anger.

"I would never tell her that."

"Well, she says that Castiel told her and we all know he doesn't exist, so she has to be getting it from somewhere. Who else does she talk to?"

We're talking about her as if she isn't in the room. I don't like to do that.

"He is real!" she suddenly screams at me, pulling her face from his jacket, momentarily.

In an attempt to calm our wailing daughter, Dean knelt down to her height.

"Lizzie, go up to your room, okay? Go play with Castiel. You can take your sandwich with you."

She quickly grabbed her sandwich and left the room, not looking me in the eye the entire time. The moment he knows she is out of earshot, Dean glares at me.

"What's your problem? Are you trying to push her away?"

"My problem? What are you doing telling her about our past? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I told you, I didn't tell her anything!"

His face is red with frustration.

"Well, who did?"

"Christ, Buffy, I don't know! Maybe she picked it up somewhere. She can read, you know. Maybe there's something around this house that she found. She's a little kid!"

"I don't have anything lying around the house that says I used to be Slayer! Are you fucking crazy?"

He sighs heavily, running his hands anxiously through his hair. I don't want to cause him this much unease, but I cannot help it.

"She got it from somewhere and it wasn't me. I know it wasn't you. But you can't jump down her throat about it!"

"All I can think is that those things that killed you know about her! They're luring her out to hurt her, Dean! What if that's what happening?"

There are tears rolling down my face and soaking into my sweater. His frustrated expression softens slightly.

"You have to stop this, Buffy. They're not going to get her, I promise."

"That's what you said before we got married."


	6. Chapter 6

_Nine years later…_

"Elizabeth!"

I hate when she calls me that. It's not as bad as when she calls me Mary Elizabeth. When I hear that, I prepare myself to hear about death or to get into serious trouble. Calling me Elizabeth is just a mom thing. I am doing the best I can to hide my laptop before she reaches my room and barely make it.

"How many times have I asked you not to call me that, Mom?"

My frustration distracts her from what else I have been doing. There will be no questions about the laptop kicked beneath the bed.

"Would you rather I call you Mary?"

I roll my eyes.

"No. Can't you call me Liz? It sounds so much more modern."

"Both of those names are royal names. They're beautiful."

"I'm not going for beautiful or royal right now. Can you just call me Liz?"

She smiles and nods. My mother has aged considerably over the last few years. I can see the wrinkles around her mouth when she smiles.

"Okay, Liz, it's time for history."

It is my favorite subject, so I'm more than willing to leave my room for home schooling. Mom and Dad have homeschooled me for as long as I can remember and I will be testing out of it soon with a diploma from the state of New York. They like to think that I still am oblivious to the reason as to why I rarely am allowed out of the house alone, but I know.

"I'll be downstairs in a few minutes, okay?"

She nods again and leaves the room.

I wait until I hear her reach the bottom of the stairs and pull my laptop back out from beneath the bed. I log back into the Facebook that neither Mom nor Dad know I have. I am listed under the name Summer Wind, which I unfortunately realized too late sounds like a pornographic name. Nonetheless, I am not about to use my real name. If they discover the account, I'll never hear the end of it.

_I'll meet you tonight._

I am fast when it comes to keyboarding. I guess I have learned my speed due to the fear that I would be caught time and time again. I hide the laptop beneath a floorboard where I have hidden it for the past six months.

"You're doing very well, honey."

I look up from my history book that is highlighted tremendously. I wasn't even aware that she was standing over me.

"Oh, thanks," I mutter, still concentrating on the book.

"You can take a break, you know."

I know this, but I have been so concentrated on school lately. I am getting the chance to graduate early after testing very well. I want to keep that record going. Bringing the studies to a halt will not help that. Still, I know I need a break.

The two of us eat a small lunch. We talk about the morning and I bring up a topic I know will upset her. I don't want to do that, but it will never be talked about otherwise.

"Mom, I need to start filling out college applications."

She sighs.

"We've talked about this, Liz. All of this."

"Not really. You and Dad just told me that I wasn't going to college."

"We didn't say that. You're only sixteen. You don't have to go to college for another two years."

"No, I don't have to. But I can. Why is this an issue? Aren't you proud of me? Don't you want me to make something of myself?"

"Oh course I do. But you're too young to be out there on your own."

"You've been saying that since I was born."

"Well, it's true. Besides, we don't have the money for college."

"Don't try that one on me again. We don't need the money. Haven't you seen my national test scores? I'm practically a national merit scholar."

"Elizabeth, I'm not having this conversation again, do you understand? You're my daughter and you'll do as I say. I'm only looking out for your well being. It's not like I'm trying to make your life miserable."

I hate that tone. There's no getting around it.

"Where's Dad?"

I leave the dark attitude in my voice on purpose, mainly just to annoy her.

"He's at the shop."

"I thought he had the day off."

"He did, but something came up. Some customer that was willing to pay a lot to have their transmission fixed by tomorrow came by. He couldn't exactly turn it away. But you know him. He'll have it done in a few hours."

As much as I love my mom, I'm closer to Dad. Mom is far too protective of me and Dad is the one who is often in my corner, especially when it comes to the college argument. I could use him at a moment like this.

"I could go to school around here-"

"Now, dammit, Elizabeth, I don't want to hear any more of this!" she suddenly yells, slamming her hand on the table hard enough to make me jump. "It's over. And I don't want to hear of you going to your father either. We're both on the same side in the matter."

I grab my history book and bring it upstairs to my room, locking the door behind me. I hear her footsteps follow me, but the moment she reaches the door, she turns and goes back downstairs.

I'm waiting until I can be positive they are asleep. It is never a for sure thing, but I feel I have gotten it down to a near art. The house is dark and the surrounding area is silent, with the exception of various animals that dare to venture near our property. It finally reaches a point where I feel they have been in bed long enough that they will not notice if I leave.

"They are asleep. You can stop worrying."

Castiel, my little confident since a young age, is sitting beside me in the armchair. He is watching me silently chat online.

"I'm not worried," I say, without looking away from the screen.

"Yes, you are. You're worried about the wrong thing."

"I'll be fine out there. I'm always careful."

"I know you are."

He is a strange creature, parent-like in nature, but not as judgmental. He's incredibly cryptic in nature, which I don't particularly appreciate. He also smiles very rarely, but is comforting nonetheless. He tells me he is my guardian angel, sent to protect me, but I'm not sure if I believe him.

I carefully unlock the window and pull it open. It's not too steep of a drop to the ground, but I always figure it is best to crawl to the tree next to my room instead. It is sturdier than any I have ever seen and I wonder if my parents really have no idea how it is utilized.

"You should find a better way out. I'm afraid you'll break your neck one of these days."

I was nearly out the window before she spoke. I turn back to see the girl I have come to know as my Aunt Dawn standing behind me. Being able to see supernatural figures, such as ghosts, angels, or whatever else, really messes with me at times. I don't know who or what anyone is. She is looking at me with a disapproving glare.

"You know, I wasn't much older than you when I died."

"I'm aware, Dawn. That's why you always look like you're seventeen."

She folds her arms across her chest, annoyed.

"I just wouldn't want to see my niece die from a slip from a tree when she has so much potential."

I wish I knew what she was talking about when it came to that potential. She always mentions it, but Castiel quiets here when she speaks of it.

"I've told you, just like I've told him," I point to Castiel, "I'm careful. Just calm down."

I crawl out and shimmy my way down the tree. My bag is on the ground in the bushes, as I hid it there hours earlier. I throw it on my back and head out to my destination in the cool rain.


	7. Chapter 7

"Lizzie!"

Evan yells for me across the club. Why we had to meet in such a crowded place is beyond me. I was all about meeting in a public place, but this is crazy. I can't hear anything but music and screaming people. He waves me over to a booth in the back. I work my way through a sea of smoke, red lights, and people who wouldn't move if the place was on fire. There is a band onstage that I don't recognize. From the size of the place, I can guarantee we are in the middle of a fire code violation.

Finally, I am able to venture through the madness and essentially land in a booth, rather than sit in it. It's a round one, around a red corner table, so I pull my bag and my legs into it and creep into the back.

"Why in the hell did we meet here?"

"I know the owner."

"You're so full of shit."

"No, I actually do. My cousin owns the place."

He points across the club to the bar where I man who looks strikingly similar to him, only about fifteen years older, stands in a black suit. He waves in our direction.

"Well, I stand corrected. Still, I can't hear a damn thing," I yell at him.

"I know," he yells back, "we're not going to stay here. We're going to go in the back."

He grabs my bag and my hand and pulls me from the booth. We squeeze through the remainder of the crowd and walk through the "Employees Only" door. The room behind the doors is apparently his cousin's office. There are framed images of his cousin with various bands and people hanging on the wall, as well as security feeds, a computer, and more. It is soundproofed and my entire being seems to relax.

"Is that better?"

"Yes. Yes, it is," I reiterate.

Evan is a person I met online roughly a year ago. That was when I found out more about Mom and Dad. Castiel had told me numerous tales about them over the years, but I had found no substantial proof until I met Evan on a supernatural forum. I wasn't even on it for them. I was doing research for a religious studies course and decided to do an essay on supernatural beings. Due to my lack of friends, he and I had talked significantly since then, meeting up as much as possible.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Coke? Whatever you have is fine."

He opens a small fridge beneath the desk, searching for something.

"It appears we only have Red Bull and beer…I could get you something from the bar."

"No, just give me the Red Bull."

I snatch it from his hand and take a short sip, not too fond of it.

"So what have you been up to?" he asks, sitting in a leather chair across from me.

"Trying to get Mom and Dad to let me out of their sight, sneaking around, seeing dead people. The usual."

"I'm don't envy your life."

"Who would?"

Evan barely fits on the chair he is sitting in. For only being eighteen years old, he's incredibly tall. If he was an athlete, he would excel greatly at basketball, simply based on his six foot six height. I got my mother's height, so I barely come to his shoulders. He was nearly my doppelganger in male form, aside from the stature matter. Our green eyes nearly mirrored one another, with mine being slightly grayer than his. His brown hair was cut short, while mine hung long and curled below my shoulders. I had inherited a pale complexion from someone in the family, as well as muscular build I know I will have to work hard to maintain as I age.

Although I feel that I knew a lot about Evan, there were points when I consider him to be something like a stranger. I know what he tells me online and what I saw the many times I met him when sneaking out. There are things about his past and present I know nothing about, such as his family or where he even lives. We always meet in public, so he may not live anywhere near me. Still, I feel comfortable with him.

He pulls his laptop from his laptop bag and sets it on the desk.

"So what is so important you couldn't tell me online or on the phone?"

"Patience, please," he says, furiously typing through various web pages.

I lean down and reach for Evan's bag. It's a very interesting little thing, full of numerous electronic and illegal treats.

"Do you have any new phones?"

"Yeah," he says, not looking from the monitor, "it's in the front pocket. Throw away the old one."

I reach in my pocket, pull the sim card out of my now former phone, and smash it with my boot. I go through phones like most people go through socks. It wouldn't be the case if my parents allowed me to have one. It was a newer one, with just about every feature one could want on it. I place it in my purse and turn back to Evan's monitor.

"Thanks."

"No problem. You'll probably get another one in a month," he says with a grin.

"These articles are from about twenty years back. I don't know how I missed them."

I'm starring in astonishment at a newspaper article online, archived from decades back. It tells the tale of a group of people from California that was massacred. Their names are omitted for an unknown reason. However, there are images of what happened. I see shots of people covered in white sheets and blood covered walls, but more importantly is the image of my mother and father walking away in the background.

"Are you sure that's them?" he asks me, knowing full well I'm sure.

"Yes. My mom is looking back at the camera. It's a long time ago, but that's her."

As far as the article goes, the media seems to believe that it was a random gang killing. I get the feeling reading it that the explanation was simply something to satisfy the public and keep them from being terrified. Something more seemed to be going on, the more I read about it. Evan was able to find photos of the crime scene minutes later, ones that showed me how people were killed and I realize it couldn't possibly be a gang killing. There are far too many supernatural elements to it.

I am incredibly grateful that I cannot see the faces or other identifying characteristics of the victims, as I am related to many of them. That would have been heartbreaking. It takes a while to find names. For some reason, they are unpublished in most of the newspapers. It may have been due to my parents not being around. They were the only ones that survived. I manage to find Faith Lehane's name, however, as she had a prison record. It makes sense that they were able to track her fingerprints for the story.

"Have you been able to track my parents after that?"

"Not by much. They kind of went off the reservation after that. The next thing I find regarding them is you and you don't even have a birth certificate."

"Why don't I have a birth certificate?"

"I don't know. You should. Your birth certificate that was used for educational purposes was falsified. It has your name, but it has different parents on it."

I know I should be more curious when told such things, but in reality, I'm simply irritated. I don't enjoy being lied to and through issues such as this; my parents are making me lie to others without me even knowing it.

"Why would someone do that?"

"To hide, from what I have seen in the past. I imagine they were hiding and when you were born, it kind of threw a wrench in their plans. No offense."

"Oh yeah, none taken," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

I watch him fly through numerous pages and images for a few minutes before I grow slightly restless and start to wander through the office. It is not very large, so I don't get far before I slump back into the chair again.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, if I go back further regarding incidents in that area, there are a wide variety of supernatural occurrences. It's not easy to find because not everyone believes in this stuff. Then there is a bunch of people who just make crap up."

"Well, does anything look plausible?"

I'm starting to wish I hadn't left the house. It wasn't worth the small amount of information I was provided.

"Some of it. There are lists of strange happenings around your parents' former home for years prior."

"What kind of happenings?"

"Well, a very large amount of grave desecrations, for example. Far more than anywhere else in the world. Everything is very increased – fights, murders, stuff like that. They all also have elements to them that one may not consider normal. People being bitten, drained blood, those sorts of things."

"By what, vampires?"

Part of me is joking when I say that, but the other part believes it.

"That seems to be the theory," he says, looking through posts on forums that are open on multiple tabs on the monitor.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. Two men I have never seen walk into the office.

"Who are you?" Evan asks them, closing the laptop quickly.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing back here?"

"I'm James' cousin. He said I could come back here."

"Well, you need to leave now, kid. We have some problems outside."

"But-"

"Now!"

They escort us out the back door and we are soon standing in the alley, unsure of our next move.

"C'mon," I say, "let's go get something to eat."


	8. Chapter 8

Evan and I are sitting in a diner down the street eating pancakes. The place is tiny, but it is touristy, so it is expensive. Manhattan can be such a pain in the ass that way. We are both on the same side of the booth, watching the laptop while shoving pieces of pancakes into our mouths.

Our relationship is an odd one, but I am not a good judge of what a normal relationship is. Having no other friends to speak of, I simply have Evan. We aren't romantic in nature, although at times I wonder if it could phase into that. We are very much like what I imagine brothers and sisters to be. Still, there is a lot I don't know about him.

"Have you ever seen this?" he asks, pulling up a record I don't recognize.

It is the arrest record of Dean Winchester, one that looks like a rap sheet of a serial killer, if it was looked at with different eyes. Numerous arrests for burglary, assault, fraud, grave distraction, and the list goes on. I laugh slightly.

"No, I have to say that I haven't seen that. God, this doesn't sound good."

"What's your mom's maiden name? We could look her up."

"Summers."

The records pull up everything from breaking and entering to arson to a charge of murder and more. I try to imagine my little old mom doing all these things.

"She burned down a school?"

"Apparently."

I try to picture Mom burning down a school. It's harder to picture her doing it than to come up with a reason why. I stuff a piece of sausage in my mouth and take a long drink of hot coffee.

"Again, their trail dries up right after all those people were killed. All your relatives," he says, his voice quieting near the end.

The trail didn't dry up to much. I came from somewhere, so I am curious as to what happened between those years. Mom and Dad never speak of it. However, there was a significant amount of time between the deaths of my family members and my birth. Although there may be nothing to it, I feel that there is a reason for that time period. I suddenly glance at my watch.

"I have to go, Evan. By the time I get back to the house, the sun will probably be up."

"You're exaggerating."

"I don't think I am," I say, taking one last sweet bite of pancakes drenched in syrup.

When I reach my room again after climbing the tree, I see Castiel, Dawn, and Willow waiting for me. I haven't seen Willow in months. She's so sweet. I always enjoy her presence.

"See, I'm fine," I say, before they have the chance to speak.

Willow smiles, but the other two remain stoic.

"You know, for being dead, you guys are pretty bent out of shape."

"I'm not dead. I was never alive," Castiel notes, his expression blank, as usual.

I roll my eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"You're taking a chance every time you go out there," Dawn lectures.

"How is it that you can sound so much like my mom when you're practically the same age as me?" I ask, putting my bag in the closet.

I open the drawer beside my bed, pull out the false bottom and hide the new phone. I leave it on vibrate so it isn't accidentally heard by my parents with a ringtone.

"I'm serious, Elizabeth-"

"Okay, Dawn, do not call me that again. Especially in that tone. I get that you worry, but you're not my mom. Knock it off."

She steps back slightly and I can tell she is thinking things over.

"Sorry. I just worry."

"Well, maybe you wouldn't have to worry if you would just tell me what happened with my parents, rather than let me figure it out by myself. It would certainly make things move faster."

"We have already told you that you are a descendant of greatness," Castiel barely whispers from across the room.

"Can you please quit talking like a song from, 'The Lion King'? Just telling me what you mean."

He is again silence, which doesn't surprise me.

"Don't let them bother you, Lizzie. You'll find out about everything soon enough," I hear Willow say from behind me. As much as she is trying to say something soothing, it still annoys me.

"I need sleep, you guys. Let me sleep."

I wake to my phone vibrating against the inside of the desk a few hours later. Thankfully, it is still dark, but I am incredibly tired. I can barely open my eyes.

"Shut up," I mumble, scouring the drawer for it after pulling it apart. Finally, I push whatever button makes it quiet.

"Hello, Evan."

No one else has the number to this thing.

"Hello, princess."

The voice on the other end of the phone is not Evan. It is female and malicious in nature. I don't recognize it. The sound is enough to frighten me out of my lethargy, pulling me to a full alert state.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"Getting a number to a cell phone is the least of the things I can do. I've been looking for you for a while now."

"Who is this?" I ask again, more demanding. Each of the words is emphasized.

"It doesn't matter. Not yet, anyway."

I am on my feet, over at the window, unsure of how I even got there. It is dark outside, but I am still scanning the woods.

"Your parents cheated. You weren't supposed to exist. That was the whole point of all of this."

I'm shaking.

"Can you see me yet?"

The question sends a chill down my spine. I try to speak, but cannot squeak out a word properly.

"Yes, dear, I can see you. You're looking right at me."

That's when I see a woman step out of the woods. She is staring up at me. I can't see her clearly, but I can see the shape of her figure.

"Who are you?" I ask again, able to speak once more.

"You'll find out."

I blink and she is gone. It couldn't have been too difficult to disappear with the acres of wooded area that are pure black with night. When I turn and run into Castiel, I nearly scream. There are tears running down my face that he is doing his best to brush away.

"You'll be okay. Just go back to sleep."

"Go back to sleep, my ass. What was that?" I ask, angrily, the tears still flowing.

"Just calm down."

"I can't calm down. There's some crazy fucking woman standing outside my house that knows the number of a phone I don't even know the number of!"

"She's a demon, Lizzie."

When he said that, his face seemed to fall apart. I know by the look that he was doing all he could to not tell me that. I swear I hear him curse under his breath, but have never known him to do that.

"A…demon? I'm seeing demons now?"

Out of all the things I had seen in my life, the ghosts, the angels, demons hadn't been high on the list. There had never been anything that had threatened me.

"You have to tell her now."

I hear Dawn's voice again and I want to scream at her to shut up. I'm so confused and scared that listening to them argue is the last thing I need.

"I'm not telling her yet. She's not ready-"

"They're coming for her now. She needs to be ready. Buffy was ready when she was fifteen. You tell her, or I will."

"We can't-"

"What are you two _talking_ about?" I hiss, something that would have been louder, had people not been asleep in the house that I didn't want to wake up.

"Your mom is the Slayer," Dawn blurts out, something that causes Castiel to glare hideously in her direction.

"What is wrong with you?" he growls.

"You were never going to tell her."

"Yes, I was. But I wasn't going to spring it on her in the middle of the night when she isn't ready for it!"

"What, were you just going to wait for them to come and tear her apart then? When she can't defend herself?"

I don't much care for the tone of the conversation and it takes quite a while before I am able to interject myself into their argument.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Dawn! You're nothing more than a little dead girl, so why don't you let me do what I am supposed to do-"

"Hey!" I finally cut in as loudly as possible without rising my voice too much, "both of you knock it off! Now answer me something. What the hell is a Slayer?"


End file.
